My head aches with the weight of that damn bear sitting on my skull. My mouth feels weird and furry, like I just ate my socks, and I blink at the bright white piercing light as I slowly try to open my eyes. Flinching at the assault and screwing my face up in reaction. My body is heavy and disconnected as I try to come to and figure out where I am and what happened to me. I feel like I just survived a train wreck, and I’m not entirely sure I’m not dead and in the afterlife waiting room. I’m altogether disoriented, everything spinning, and I can barely move my body as though I've somehow I feel vacuum pressed to the surface I’m flat out on, and it’s the most surreal sensation to wake up to. It takes a minute for my eyes to grow accustomed to the brightness of my surroundings, and, much like having a torch shone in your face, it’s painful at first until it levels out and an actual ceiling comes into focus. Watery eyes blur to clarity and blink repetitively to figure out what I was staring at.
White square tiles and a gray, wooden ceiling fan that’s on slow and hitting me with a gentle breeze. The tiles are large and grubby and pull my focus enough to let me grasp the reality of my situation: I’m inside a building and no longer on the forest floor.
My gut twists, and my insides sink as that filters through. It all comes slowly back, the memory of eating dirt and passing out, and I try to sit hurriedly as panic comes kicking back into play. Straining with all I have in me as mild panic sets in.
I can’t move, a tightness across my chest, arms, and legs, yanking me down painfully, and when I attempt a second time, trying to figure out what’s wrong with my body, I realize it’s not me ... I’m restrained. It’s not some weird malfunction of my body after being tranquilized.
I manage to tilt my chin, still dizzy but able to drag the exaggerated weight of my skull up enough to look down my body and exhale at the sight I see. Laid out flat on a hospital bed, dressed in a light medical gown. There are leather straps across me at several points of my torso and legs, keeping me down, and both my ankles and wrists are shackled in wide black fabric to the sidebars of the bed. The guards are up, holding me in place, and try as I can to wriggle, I can barely move an inch. They’re tight, thick, and impenetrable while I’m in human form.
I turn my head to the side, dizziness making everything sway, getting a blank white painted brick wall and turn the other way, opening up my view into a small medical room. Brick all around, no windows, and one white door closed shut with nothing but a high square glass panel in the upper half. There are cupboards, trolleys, and worktops in here, with all manners of medical kits and supplies, some posters on the walls that remind me of the doctor’s surgery in Radstone, and an array of panels up near the door that look pretty high tech. The floor is tiled in a weird blue-gray vinyl and, apart from the information posters on dressing wounds, the predominant color here is white. It’s stark, stinks of disinfectant, and has the usual low hum of electrical outlets and the whirring fan over my head.
It’s almost eerily silent and deserted, but I know that’s far from reality. There is nothing overly out of place for a sick room that causes me any extra alarm. I mean, it’s not like I’m waking up mid-body slicing in an alien abduction story.
I feel nauseous, my heart pounding through my ears already, even without the added anxiety of waking up and finding myself captive in a strange place. I’m obviously inside the building now, somewhere below ground, and I have no chance of getting off this bed. I can’t get up, probably not even without the straps, while I haven’t come all the way out of my drugged stupor. My energy levels are low as hell.
My first attempt at turning is entirely futile, but I try, hoping to wipe the residual drug out of my system with sheer willpower. It’s like I have zero ability, and even breaking my promise never to link Colton again, I try, desperate for some kind of help. Just his reassuring voice, always knowing what to do, his words to calm me. I get a black wall of nothing, meaning something is blocking all of my gifts and abilities, and I’m no better off than a mortal with no gifts.
I wonder what the hell they’ve done to me to subdue all that is supernatural, and I don’t have time to ponder it when a tiny buzzing sound draws my attention above my head, behind my line of sight. Wriggling around until I can tilt my head back far enough, arching the very slight amount I can, to see a camera repositioning in the top corner over my head and focusing its attention on me. I guess my movements alerted someone that I’m now awake, and I glare at it hatefully, visually doing what my body can’t and rebelling in some small way. I try harder than ever to get out of these straps and give up as a wave of fatigue washes over me and leaves me breathless.
It's futile. I have no strength, still groggy enough that my little energy wanes fast, and I jump internally when the door across the room beeps loudly, reverberating through my ears and clicks to signal someone coming in.
“I see you’re awake, dear girl. I’ve been waiting impatiently and ready to come to introduce myself to such a marvel as you.” The heavy accent is foreign, almost like the Queen of England that I’ve heard on television in the orphanage, and I screw my face up at the man who strolls in towards me, smiles weirdly as though eyeing up a special gift someone has left for him by surprise. I’m momentarily taken aback by the almost caricature way he has of talking.
He’s in his older years with graying fluffy hair, glasses, and a balding head. His midriff is round and portly, making his white lab coat look restrictive and emphasizing that he’s wider in size than in height. The second he walks in, I can tell that he’s not a wolf; you would never see a wolf in a bad physical shape, and we definitely do not go bald. Gray over time, but none of the human aging flaws like developing weight or saggy bits. Definitely no hair loss. Wolves stay in their prime until they crash out past the hundred and so years we live for, and this guy looks like he’s maybe hitting human sixty at a push. He has a striped baby blue shirt on, a peek of green braces, but a dark red polka-dot bow tie that just adds to his peculiarity.
I stare at him pointedly, eyes steeped in mistrust, and give him no response.
“Quite.” He says absurdly for no apparent reason as his eyes travel up and down me in the most disturbing way. I’m being sized up for some sort of alien autopsy. Either that or he’s lost in his head and marveling at some wonder that has him smiling like a weirdo.
“Where am I?” I blurt out boldly, not caring about being polite and friendly given my current predicament and the fact this asshole has me lassoed to a bed while bobbing nearby Willy Wonka style. My spine is agony at the point of that damn dart, and it feels like I’m black and blue all over. Only just beginning to feel my fingers and toes, and despite regaining some alertness, I feel like I’m not quite here fully yet, and this still has an aura of dreamlike to it.
“Oh, of course ... silly me. How rude and utterly awful. Let me introduce myself first. I’m Doctor George, William Robert Adams. I’m the resident chief scientific officer at this facility, and you, my dear, are our guest. Sadly, we’ve had to take certain measures for both your safety and ours, seeing as, like my acquaintances, you seem to possess a certain wonderful gift. But it’s a temporary arrangement until we become better acquainted. I hope you won’t hold it against us that we acted hastily in a preventive manner without knowing your character or purpose for trespassing on our doorstep. And your name is?” It’s a whoosh of ridiculously precise, queen’s English in an exaggerated and somewhat foolish sense. I’m at a loss. I didn’t think people actually talked or behaved like this, let alone ones who survived living among the aggressive, low patient, temper driven, wolf kind, like me. He’s a little absurd.
I blink at him, stupefied at that whole upper crust, marble-mouthed mass of weirdness that came out of him. He seems like some eccentric Mary Poppins type character, and I’m sure I might still be high from whatever they darted me with. I stare blankly at him, dropping my head back on the pillow, and don’t say a word.
“I know. I know, you must be thinking the absolute worst after Mr. Deacon took you down with an elephant dart, and they carted you in here and trussed you up like a Sunday roast on an oven sheet. Truly, we don’t mean any harm. We would just like to ascertain who you are, where you came from, and exactly what you were doing snooping around this rather top secret and out-of-bounds facility. A boring informality before we can be more hospitable. Please don’t hold it against me.” He raises his brow at me, still smiling like a demented person, and removes his glasses to clean them on his coat, only breaking eye contact for a moment before returning them to his face and renewing that creep smile. I’m starting to wonder if this one is a sandwich short of a picnic, and maybe this is what happens when you live in a box underground and don’t see the sun for prolonged periods.
“Passing through. I don’t know what this place is and have no interest in it.” I point out blankly, not willing to elaborate, but only get a strange ‘hmm’ noise in return as he nods at me.
“I see. The minor issue with that is that you were very clearly caught snooping around on our surveillance and checking Tyron’s truck out before high-tailing it into the forest—oops. I believe you, but they don’t, which is rather disastrous. May I add, though ... wow, just wow, I’ve never seen, literally ever, in flesh and bone myself, an actual full and pure white-furred wolf. It truly was a remarkable sight, not to side-track the main point and negate the seriousness of your current position, but I just had to put that out there.” He raises his palms in a quirky little jazz hand movement that perfectly matches the happy, wide-eyed, lifted brow thing he does. The dude is strange.
Who the hell is this guy, and did he swallow a thesaurus in his formative years? He sure takes the long way to say anything, and it throws you off. I honestly can’t tell if this is a tactic to disarm you and pull information or if he really is a conversation starved oddball and tends to offload. Maybe he’s just weird. He has the whole odd outfit thing down to a T for being a weird one.
I’m also shocked to be told my fur is now entirely white. Although I’ve had hints and suspicion it was turning that way; he just solidified the fact for me. It’s not like I’ve had a mirror or an ability to take my head off and use it to look at my whole body when turned. I have no idea why my turning white is happening, and I wonder if my mother experienced the same thing. A flaw, just like everyone said it was, maybe some kind of disease that spreads.
“I thought he might have food,” I add, eyes darting around the room past him as I continue to come back to the land of reality and start looking for something useful to help me get out of these straps. Trying to muster up the willpower to turn again, but nothing happens. Something is seriously screwing with my abilities, and this individual doesn’t seem like an imminent threat. Unless talking you to death is possible. My nerves quickly dissipate in his presence.
“Oh, so you’re hungry. How thoughtless of us. Well, we can do something about that, can’t we? No need for us to be rude and unfriendly. It makes perfect sense that you would be drawn to a concrete building searching for supplies in the center of this green utopia if you were out here lost. I just would like to know your name for a start, and possibly where you originated from, and maybe, if you have any more friends lurking out there. A pack, a mate. Someone who might not be very discreet about the whereabouts of our sensitive location. I know it’s a bothersome formality, but they won’t let me feed or untie you without it.”
I ignore him completely, too occupied with the why of the fact I can’t seem to muster any kind of ability. Even my strength is only that of a regular human. It’s frustrating me, as I can now move my toes and feet and rotate and wriggle them to test the strength of the straps. The power and speed I have, even in human form, are absent.
“What have you done to me? Why can’t I turn?” I snap it at him aggressively, temper rising as it sinks in, but it isn’t helpful in terms of ability. I hit him with a pointed look under lowered brows, and his happy little face drops to an almost impressed ‘ooh’ look.
“Ah, well caught. You’re an observant one, aren’t you? This facility is a life-sized isolation tank, so your kind can’t use any unwanted force or abilities on my staff when we require your presence or when we have guests such as yourself. It’s remarkable that they can make a building completely capable of dissolving any supernatural ability, isn’t it? I don’t have the engineering science, but I can assure you it is quite ingenious.” He talks way too much. He also gets way too excited over the most minor things, and I eye-roll and shake my head at him, trying to draw him back to the Intel that I need.
“Once again … Where am I?” I’m losing my cool quickly, annoyed at being held down, and I wriggle manically to attempt to escape this crazy one, not giving a crap he’s standing right there. The noise of the door beeping and clicking behind him snaps my attention back to it and the dark uniformed figure that comes stalking in as he pushes a trolley with what seems to be a food tray to one side.
“Pipe down, Princess. You know where you are because you hauled ass up to our door and tried to take a look. The question he asked ... Are there more of you out there?” It’s a commanding deep, almost growl-like tone from a serious-looking man with a foreboding glare. That feeling of intimidation returns as he makes my braveness pipe down, and I return to still and calm mannered and stare directly at him.
He’s a scary one and most definitely a wolf. Not that my sense of smell is working either. Tall, broad, physically hunky, and good looking in that bland, typical, dominant wolf way, and unnervingly very Santo. This in itself is weird.
He’s Latino in accent, dark, tanned, handsome, and I swear he almost has Colton’s dark chocolate eyes, although his have hints of green that lighten them overall, and it somehow kills the whole smoldering look. He has an arrogant look and a slight downturn to his mouth— whereas Colton’s turns up—which gives him an air of aggressive superiority. Even when being a pompous ass, Colton always has a smiley quality to his face. Pretty boy ... cute ... dimples ... God, I miss him.
“Guess you’ll find out soon enough,” I remark bitchily, not willing to give them any information until I know what will happen to me. So far, it seems that tests, experiments, and pulling my insides out are unlikely. I’m probably more in danger of ben ‘fan girled’ by the dude in the white coat who has a severe leg hump for my whiteness.
If they know I’m alone and have no one tracking me, they might think nothing of disposing of me. He said this was a top-secret facility, and I’m guessing making promises not to tell doesn’t hold a lot of weight with these types. I shouldn’t tell them anything and pray they believe I’m a no one and let me go on my merry way.
“Not the sensible response, sweetheart. Name ... Pack name. Don’t get smart. The quicker we know who you are, the faster you might get out of here.” He eyes me viciously, not friendly at all. I snort at that, half laughing sardonically, and roll my eyes, noting how much emphasis he put on the word might.
“Sure, I will. I mean, it’s totally normal to be an asshole, drug people, and tie them up, right?”
Now is probably not a good time to realize I developed a bad attitude and sass while living in the wilderness, but something about him riles me up. I’m guessing the Santo look and that hint of an accent reminds me of so many smug dickheads I grew up around, and his tone is getting on my last nerve. Sick of being pushed around by these Alpha-type wolves and their damn superiority complexes.
“Deacon, here, is our head of security, and you must excuse his abrupt manner. He’s just very concerned that the delicate nature of our work might be compromised if some random yet very pretty rebel wolves should happen to disrupt our facility. We have sensitive materials that require the utmost protection. I beg you to understand our predicament and disregard my friend’s hostility in such an unfortunate matter.” He’s flapping, looking flustered and trying to give an air of friendly.
“Doc ... too much Intel for a bratty girl who’s giving nothing in return. How about you go polish a stethoscope over in the corner and leave this to me.” He snaps, and the poor little doctor reddens in the cheeks at the verbal telling off. His eyes drop to the floor in submission, and it’s no surprise to see which one rules this roost.
Deacon is not that much older than me physically, yet he acts like he could totally be one of Juan’s arrogant, nasty bloodline, with a massive chip on his shoulder. He looks like the type to love pistol-whipping people and probably gets off on the power trip. He probably got stationed here against his own will and takes it out on everyone around him.
“Maybe, if I weren’t chained to a bed, I would be more inclined to talk.” I point out sarcastically, raising one brow to drive the point home and showing none of the fear that’s still simmering in my belly. I guess being out there alone for weeks on end gave me a sense of fierce and confidence I never knew I could ever get back, and this time it’s Deacon who eye-rolls.
“She has a point. It’s not very polite of us, especially when she cannot do any physical damage within these walls.” The doctor seems to be a soft touch, and the dark glare Deacon spins and throws at him makes him pipe down immediately. He almost turns crimson from the neck up and shuffles back, slightly away from the big brute at his side.
“She gets loose when we get some answers!” He digs his heels in, turning back to me with an unamused frown that signals he’s exerting his dominance, and I sigh heavily, knowing I’ve no choice but to give them something if I want the use of my limbs at least. It’s not great being interrogated by two men standing over me while I’m set out like a sacrifice to the gods. Mentally, it makes me feel at a considerable disadvantage, and being free would make this less intimidating.
“Fine!! Carmen!! My pack comes from the east, and I’m taking a little trekking holiday from them after a fight with my mom and stupidly stumbled across your little building. I was curious, that’s all.” I lie convincingly and stare straight at Mr. Security, long and hard to drive the point home. My stomach is trembling, my nerves getting the better of me, and I can’t tell if the waves of cold are the aftereffects of the drug or my anxiety piquing. I’ve no idea why I chose her name. I mean, I do blame her for a huge portion of how I got here. I guess on some level, if I get free, then I want her name to be the one they put on the ‘shoot on sight if seen’ list.
“Carmen? Hmm … Nope.” He replies and crosses his arms across a muscular chest, trying to appear in the know, but it only serves to irritate me further.
“Umm, why nope? Carmen is my goddamn name. I’m sorry it doesn’t meet your expectations. Freak.” I huff, wriggle aggressively, and exhale heavily when I make no headway in loosening anything.
“You’re not a very good liar. You have about fifty tells, and the only part of that which was true was that you stumbled across us. The rest was bullshit. Look, we just need to know who else is with you and who you linked and told about this place before we took you down.”
“What does it matter, for fuck’s sake? No one, okay. I’m alone, and this bullshit is getting old. Untie me if you’re all so fucking nice and friendly, as it might make a goddamn difference to this conversation! If you want me to talk, get me off this goddamn, uncomfortable, infernal fucking bed you have me strung out on like I’m awaiting dissection!” I lose my cool. My temper snaps with sheer frustration at him, riled in a way only Colton could ever make me. I blame the fact that he somewhat resembles him and has that same pig-headed, stubborn ass manner that made me crazily hate the Santos. That know-it-all, bullshit mind game, and ordering me around.
“How alone?” He completely ignores my femme tantrum. Deacon steps closer, pressing his hands to either side of my head on the bed, and it dips as he leans into me, bringing his face close enough he locks on me, eye to eye, and blocks out most of the light over my head, casting his face in shadow. It has the effect I guess he was going for, in that I lose all fight, recoiling back inside myself, wholly affected, and a little fearful, and lift my chin not to show it. Backing down subtly, but not without a bit of fight.
“Like all the way alone. My pack isn’t with me, but I can’t be sure they aren’t far behind.” It’s not really a lie, as I don’t know if any of my pack has ever caught any kind of trail and followed me. I doubt it, as they would have caught up by now, but I’m not going to say I know for sure they haven’t. I just don’t know, and it seems to be a believable statement as he leans up and pushes himself away from me after a minor scrutinizing of my face at close quarters.
“No one with you? No mind-linking?” He repeats sternly, and I shake my head as stupid as I am for admitting it. Deacon seems satisfied I’m not lying and turns back to his submissive oddball.
“You can untie her, Doc. She can eat, but she stays confined here until we decide what we should do with her. I still want a name and pack. I need to know what kind of threat she, or they, pose. I’ll be back soon. I need to contact Alpha Santo and get directions concerning our intruder. He’ll want to be informed.”
My heart stops beating in my chest, and I have to stop myself from gasping out loud at the words that come out of his mouth. My insides self-combust and the blood freezes in my veins as my mind comes to a complete standstill on those two little terrifying words.